


The Puppeteer

by SinpaiCasanova



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anger Management, Blood and Gore, Detectives, Drinking to Cope, Gay Character, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Law Enforcement, Mental Instability, Mommy Issues, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Night Terrors, Other, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Puppeteer, Self-Defense, Smoking, Stabbing, Thriller, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinpaiCasanova/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: The Puppeteer has been locked away for five years, sentenced to 30 consecutive life sentences for each victim he ripped from this world. His signature was reminiscent of his name, dangling his victims from red wires like a puppet. But after years of silence the killings have restarted, with the same signature as the others. Detective Mark Fischbach was the man that put The Puppeteer behind bars, but now he needs his help to catch this new killer and stop the gruesome killings once again.





	1. Chapter 1

The room was deathly silent, emotions running high as a young woman handed the bailiff a folded slip of paper. The writing inside was simple enough, but easily held the power to end somebody's existence as soon as it was uttered. The paper traveled into the hands of the judge, her pale blue eyes gazing upon the word through her thick rimmed glasses.

"On the charge of murder in the first degree, how do you find the defendant?" She asked, her eyes trailing up to look at the man responsible for such atrocities.

"We, the jury, find the defendant Andrew Seipteach, guilty of murder in the first degree." A young woman robotically announced to the court, an eruption of relieved murmurs and happy tears following afterward.

"Is this your true verdict, say you one and all?"

Fifteen distinct voices agreed with a single word, the defense attorney sighing in defeat as he glanced at the faces of the family members that were here to represent their lost loved ones. But Andrew didn't seem phased in the slightest. In fact, his expression was disturbingly calm for someone that had just recieved a guilty verdict. The judge nodded, banging her gavel against the wooden block to signify that the verdict had been understood. The sentencing part of the trial wouldn't be until the next morning, but everyone already knew that this son of a bitch was at least looking at one count of life without parole. The court was adjourned shortly after the verdict was read, with the defendant already on his way back to Madison county penitentiary in an armored vehicle.

Two years of hunting down this psychopath had come to a close, and the public could rest easy knowing that the worst serial killer known to Union City was finally where he belonged. The dedicated men and women of the Union City Police Department had a lot to celebrate about, especially for the detective that nailed the bastard in the first place. He was there when the verdict was read, breathing a sigh of relief when the jury didn't buy his bullshit defence of mental defect. Nobody kills thirty people the way he did just because he had a shitty home life. These killings were brutal and gruesome, left for the public to find in the most open of areas. But those poor people could rest in peace now that their killer was locked away in a dirty cell for the rest of his miserable existence. And so too could Mark.

His return to UCPD was met with praise and kind pats on the back for a job well done. It's not everyday that a criminal of this caliber is collared by one of their own. His pillowy lips were pulled back in an award winning smile, the corners of his almond shaped eyes wrinkled with a mixture of happiness and stress. It had been a rough two years, and Mark had almost lost his partner, Seàn, when the rescue of Andrew's last victim was botched.

The woman ultimately died before they could get to her, and Seàn took a knife to the chest when things resorted to physical combat. But he lived, and that Irish ball of spice was there at the precinct to congratulate his partner for saving his life along with many others.

"How's it feel to have your arse kissed for a change, Fischbach?" Seàn joked, his left arm in a sling while the other was firmly attached to a cup of coffee. Mark rolled his eyes, elbowing this smartass Irishman just hard enough to make his blue eyes narrow.

"It feels good, but it'd be better if your lips were giving my ass a nice smooch."

"Fuck sake, Mark!"

Seàn made a face but laughed anyhow. He had gotten pretty used to Mark's crude humor over the years. He didn't mind the overly sexual tone that most of those jokes carried. A little flirting every now and then never hurt anyone.

"So, you and me tonight, yeah? I owe you a drink for saving my ass. And who knows, maybe I might kiss yours if I'm drunk enough." Seàn chuckled, lifting his coffee cup up to his thin pink lips to take a swing. Mark rolled his eyes, knowing that Seàn wasn't necessarily joking about how friendly he gets once he's properly sauced. The offer was tempting, but Mark had to do something first before he would allow himself to celebrate this victory. Seàn would understand, even though he would piss and moan about it until Mark fully understood how disappointed he was.

"Raincheck? I have something important I need to do first."

"Oh, come on! Leave it alone, Mark. That cunt isn't going anywhere for a long time. Plus you've already flaked out on me more times than I can count. It's just a drink." Seàn protested, his thick eyebrows knit together.

"If it's just a drink then it can wait. I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Mark was already heading towards the door before Seàn could say anything else, his long black dress coat flowing behind him as he passed through the door to the precinct. He could hear Seàn cursing at him, shouting something in Irish that Mark assumed was an empty threat. He'd surprise Seàn with a night out soon enough, but right now he needed to gain that final piece of closure that would end this case for him mentally.

Andrew had inadvertently fucked with his mind pretty severely. So much so that he couldn't sleep without a belly full of whiskey and two lungs full of nicotine. There are some things that the human mind cannot process efficiently, and seeing the strung up bodies of thirty mutilated men and women was enough to break Mark's sanity just a little more than his previous cases had. He wanted to talk to Andrew, settle the score between them once and for all. He just wanted this to be over.

Mark sighed as he climbed into his car, catching his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked exhausted, but somehow he was able to hide just how much this job really affected him behind those warm brown eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The hour and a half drive to the Madison County Penitentiary was spent like most of Mark's down time, with the police scanner quietly playing in the background as he lost himself in his own thoughts. His mind was hardly ever quiet anymore, not since he took on the case that nearly cost him everything. The backs of his eyelids held a permanent image of the horrors he's had to witness because of Andrew Seipteach, and every time he closed his eyes he was reminded of the young woman he couldn't save despite his best efforts. Sometimes life isn't fair.

His weary mind began to wander off down the familiar path of nightmares long past, his body running on auto pilot as he followed the flow of traffic.

He can clearly hear the static from his walkie, waiting for a response from dispatch as his trembling hands pressed against Seàn's chest.

"10-33, officer down! Dispatch, please respond! Seàn's been stabbed." Mark rushed out, his partner's heaving chest pumping out blood with every exhale. The static cleared for a moment, the voice of a older woman ringing through to answer his cry for help.

" _10-4, EMS en route._ "

Mark shakily sighed in relief, but the feeling was quickly replaced with dread as Seàn's eyelids began to droop. He could see the puddle of blood growing underneath his paling body, feel the heartbeat beneath his fingers quieting down. Mark was going to lose him if he couldn't control the bleeding, and the smug bastard that plunged that knife into Seàn's chest wasn't doing any better thanks to Mark. His neck was slashed in the fight, leaving him a bleeding mess on the floor next to them. Mark wanted to just end him right then and there for what he's done to Seàn and all those poor people, but it just didn't pan out that way. Seàn's eyes shut for a moment, sending a bolt of pure anxiety through Mark's chest.

"Shit, Seàn you have to stay awake. Keep those pretty eyes on me." He pleaded, shaking his partner to keep him alert. Blood sputtered from Seàn's mouth, staining his teeth as he grimaced.

"Mark, is the girl okay? I t-tried to stop him, but-"

"She's fine. You just worry about staying awake, alright?" Mark lied, knowing that the girl didn't survive. Andrew made sure of that.

"Doesn't matter if I die. She'll live."

Seàn's head rolled to the side, glassy eyes fixed on the man next to them. Mark could feel the anger bubbling up inside his chest, wondering where in the hell the fucking EMTs were. It took those bastards nine minutes to reach the house, and two more before Seàn was loaded up into the back of the ambulance. He's lucky he survived. Who knows what would have happened if they had been a minute later.

The sad truth was that the girl never had a chance once Andrew got his hands on her. Her left ring finger was cut off from the second knuckle, thick hooks jammed into her hands and feet, suspending her body from the ceiling by red wires. The large hook in her back severed her spinal cord, and from that point on she was practically dead already. But if that didn't take her to her grave the blunt force trauma to her head would have.

But that was almost six months ago, and Seàn has since healed. He still has a nasty cough that rears its ugly head whenever he laughs too hard or exerts himself, but it's much better than the alternative.

The car pulls up to the gate, snapping Mark out of his thoughts as he shows the guard his badge. He's waved through the gate and drives until he reaches the parking garage, stepping out of his parked car and walking inside the building. His heart is hammering inside his chest, the soft clicking of his shoes echoing down the hallway of the prison. It's loud as all hell in here, with distant shouting and cursing keeping him company as he enters the private room used for interrogation.

There was no legitimate reason for Mark's visit besides his own peace of mind, but the warden adores him so he's granted a few special privileges every now and again. The detective anxiously waits for Andrew to arrive, shifting uncomfortably in the cold metal chair. But his body goes rigid once he hears the doors buzz, opening a second later to reveal two armed officers holding onto each of Andrew's cuffed arms. The man smiles, the expression not reaching his green eyes as he's forced to sit in the chair across from Mark.

"Detective? What a nice surprise." Andrew comments, paying no attention to the way his arms and legs are manhandled to secure his chains to the floor. Mark notices how rough his voice is, nodding to the officers that move to step outside of the room, locking them both inside.

"Does it hurt?" Mark gestures to the red scar running across Andrew's pale neck. "I hope it hurts like hell."

Andrew laughs, his voice sounding like bad static coming across an old radio. It causes a flash of pain to settle behind Mark's eyes, remembering the aftermath of Andrew's arrest once again.

"Pain excites me. Isn't that what your profile said about me, detective?" Andrew grins. "What was it again? Sexual sadist with an Oedipus complex? That's a new one I've never heard before."

"Doesn't make it any less true, Andrew."

"Anti." The man snaps, his grin falling from his chapped lips. Mark knows that his mother is a soft spot for Anti, and Mark can't help but twist the knife a bit more just to see him squirm.

"Oh, that's right. That little stutter you had as a kid gave you that name, and mommy never called you by anything else," Mark quipped, smirking despite the wild look in those dead green eyes. "Anything to keep her memory alive, right?"

"So, you're here to gloat? Insult my dead mother like the pathetic excuse of a man that you are? Classy, detective. You truly are Union's finest."

There's a pause, followed by Mark's quiet chuckle. He didn't come here to antagonize Anti, even though it's incredibly satisfying to see that smug smile slip from his mouth.

"I came to see my handiwork first hand. I wanted to know that my effort was worth all that I could have lost." Mark says, his tone taking a somber turn.

"And was it?"

"Yes." Mark answers, his brown eyes meeting the green of Anti's gaze. "You're going to rot in here, maybe even get a needle in your arm for all the fucked up shit that you've done. And I'll sleep well at night knowing that I was the one that put you here."

Anti smirks, his brows raising in agreement. He can understand the feeling that Mark is experiencing. He's felt it every time he gazed upon the lifeless faces of his victims. To him it was better than sex to see such a sight, and he made a point of telling that fact to Mark every chance that he could. This was all a game to him, and Mark was just another pawn for him to control.

"How's Seàn doing these days? Still struggling with that pesky cough?" Anti began, thoroughly enjoying the annoyed look that washed over Mark's face. "I never had the chance to tell him how nice it was to feel my knife slip between his cracked ribs. Oh, and that scream he let out," Anti closed his eyes, biting his lip. "Such a heavenly sound."

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?" Mark snapped, but Anti continued to rub the salt into his open wound. Anti wasn't the only one with a soft spot.

"Oh, please. Like you haven't fantasized about slipping something else into that soft body of his. I just beat you to the punch."

Mark's anger was already boiling over, and with a growl he rose to his feet and slammed his hands down across the top of the metal table.

"I fucking hope that they lock your ass in a padded cell until your brain turns to scrambled egg! I want you to suffer like those people did, and I pray to God that your pitiful existence is nothing more than misery and pain, you disgusting piece of shit! I hope they fry your ass down here for what you've done!" Mark howled, his brown eyes filled with fiery rage. But this was exactly the reaction that Anti was hoping to get. Mark was a slave to his anger, and it was going to end up costing him dearly in the long run. The door buzzed and the two officers rushed in to grab Anti and haul him up to his feet like a rag doll.

"Looks like our time is up. Pity, I always enjoy our little talks." Anti giggled, following the officers as they drug him back out into the hallway. "See you soon, detective." His voice ringing down the hall along with a laugh that Mark could only describe as disturbing.

"No..you won't."


	3. Chapter 3

"Detective. So nice of you to join us." A hoarse voice calls from the darkened room that Mark is standing in. His panicked chestnut eyes are darting around, trying to figure out where in the hell he actually is. Light is starting to slowly filter in, along with soft classical music that Mark doesn't recognize.

"Who's there?!" Mark growled, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself up off of the floor. "Show yourself!"

A dark chuckle answered him from the shadows, beckoning for Mark to come closer. Weaved into the classical music was the distinct sound of muffled crying, and the fact that Mark recognized the voice behind those sounds made his blood freeze in his veins.

"Seàn?! Where are you?!" Mark called out, walking quickly towards the sound of his distressed partner. He could smell blood and metal in the air, making his stomach twist at how familiar it all was.

"Seàn?!" He called out again, heading towards the source of light at the end of the long hallway he was now standing in.

"That's it, my precious marionette. Smile. You've never looked more beautiful than you do right now." The voice cooed, followed by the wet sound of skin splitting. Seàn groaned in agony, urging Mark to quicken his pace. The raven-haired man was sprinting down the hallway, sweat beading on his forehead as the corridor seemed to go on for ages.

The room to the right of him had an eerie red glow filtering out of it, and Mark could tell that this was where Seàn was being held. The classical music was so much louder than before, but Mark could still hear the muffled whimpers of his partner over the string instruments that were playing. The detective turned the corner, racing towards the unknown as he entered the room to the right.

Any sense of calm that Mark had left dissolved into a cloud of pure terror as his wide eyes fell upon the suspended body of his partner. Seàn was still very much alive, but it wouldn't be long until he succumbed to his many injuries. Small fishing hooks were threaded through the muscles of his cheeks, pulling them up into a forced smile that made Mark want to vomit. Curved pieces of metal were jammed into his hands and feet, with another large hook jutting out from his upper back. Red wires held him up from the ceiling, dangling his blood soaked body above the ground like a puppet.

"Seàn?! What the fuck has he done to you?!"

"I made him beautiful, detective. Don't you agree?" The voice answered, drawing Mark's attention to the shadow standing on the stage behind Seàn's suspended body. Green eyes pierced through the red overtones of the room, shining like spotlights before a show. It seemed to penetrate right down into Mark's core, freezing him with fear from where he stood. That demented laughter cut like a knife, and from Anti's hands he could see the same red wire that held Seàn up above the ground. A single flick of his fingers and Seàn was moving, the wires pulling up his hands and feet to make him look as if he were dancing to the music.

"Isn't he just magnificent?!" Anti cackled, the sharp sound of his distorted laughter jolting Mark up from his bed in a cold sweat. The Eurasian was panting, sweat covering the sheets of his bed and wetting his black hair. His heart was pounding like a drum, still reeling from the night terror he's so familiar with by now. It's been five years since Anti was sentenced to thirty consecutive life sentences for the atrocities he committed, but Mark still has these vivid dreams about him. It makes it almost impossible for him to sleep for more than four hours a night, but he's slowly getting used to it. The booze and the nicotine helps to a degree, but at what cost? Mark is flushing his good health down the drain with every hit of poison he takes.

The Eurasian pulls the covers off of his legs, shakily shifting until his feet are touching the floor of his apartment. The furniture smells like cigarette smoke and there's an ever present dullness to the lighting, but Union City apartments weren't all that great and a detective's salary can only get you so much. Mark doesn't seem to mind the drab atmosphere that his home brings. He's hardly here for more than a few hours before he has to leave once again anyways.

The clock to his left states that it's a quarter after four in the morning, and even though he doesn't need to be at the precinct until half past seven, he decides to start his day with a cigarette to calm his nerves. Mark grabs the nearly empty pack of menthols, lighting the tip until it's a smoldering cherry red. His bones ache and pop as he moves across his apartment, stopping to relieve himself in the bathroom before moving to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. The detective slips a little bit of whiskey in with the cream and sugar, sighing as he takes a sip of hot caffeinated bliss.

The rest of his routine consists of a quick shower and a half eaten bowl of oatmeal, and by this point the terror of the dream has faded from his mind. Mark styles his hair and slips on his dress shirt and slacks, the worn out leather holster draped around his shoulders only slightly contrasts with the black and red color of his attire.

He looks good despite the dark circles under his tired eyes, but he just considers that to be a permanent part of his look. After a few more moments he's heading out the door, pulling on his long coat to conceal the 9mm resting against his side. It's still dark out, but the sun is beginning to awaken just beyond the horizon of the cityscape. It's a new day, but the shadow of yesterday still looms over his shoulder like a malevolent spirit, casting Mark into perpetual darkness once more.


	4. Chapter 4

With the sun lighting up the morning sky in bright shades of pink and orange, Mark takes a moment to admire the beauty from a park bench near the precinct. He makes it a point to stop here at least once a day, normally early in the morning when it's quiet and serene. The peaceful atmosphere around him helps to clear his mind before he dives head first into the cesspool of human depravity once again. Mark has seen some truly fucked up shit in his time as a homicide detective, and his most recent case still weighs heavily on his mind.

The Cannibal of Madison County, or Robbie Rèvenant, was a disturbed individual that believed that he would die if he didn't consume human blood. He was diagnosed with Renfield syndrome shortly after his capture, meaning that in his mind he believed that his body was running out of blood and that he needed to replace it with the blood of others. Of course his roommate's murder wasn't the only crime that he was guilty of. When he was seventeen years old he was convicted of manslaughter for killing and eating his girlfriend at the time. For those deeds he served fourteen years before being released back into society. Robbie was quiet and shy, reserved but extremely unstable. The last thing Mark remembers about the case was hearing that he would be incarcerated in the same penitentiary that Anti now called home.

Mark sighed, taking one last glance at the sunrise before heading towards his car. Civilians were already filling the park, a few joggers passing him without a care in the world. These people were often ignorant to the evil nestled in the heart of Union, but Mark wouldn't have it any other way. They didn't need to know what the demons among them were capable of.

The drive to the precinct was short and uneventful, and Mark was already walking through the front doors of the building when the clock struck seven. The front offices were filled with police secretaries and patrolman gathering up their supplies before heading out for the day. It was a chaotic type of calm that Mark was used to hearing, drowning out the dark thoughts that seemed to constantly invade his mind.

"Mornin', Mark." A slightly accented voice called from behind the desk closest to the elevator.

"Morning, Robin." Mark greets in return, strolling up to the redhead's desk to grab his complementarity donut that Robin offers every morning. The Swede pulls back the top of the pastry box, and Mark frowns when he notices that his favorite pastry is already gone.

"Seàn stole the cream filled maple glaze. And he also told me to lie to you and say that it was Nate." Robin chuckled.

"Nate's on that keto shit, he can't have donuts." Mark sighed, grabbing a donut with an annoyed scowl. Robin rolled his eyes, putting the pasties away before resuming his secretarial duties.

"Yeah, I tried to tell him that he was a fucking idiot but he seemed pretty confident in himself so I'll just let you tell him that yourself."

"If you hear a shootout upstairs, you'll know why." Mark grumbles, bitterly making his way towards the elevator with a mouthful of sugary disappointment. Robin's laugh fills the elevator before the doors close and he's taken to the third floor. Make no mistake about it, that Irish thief would get an earful for that little stunt.

The doors to the elevator open and the familiarity of ringing phones and cigarette smoke instantly swirls around Mark. In the homicide unit there are four detectives, a secretary, and two officers. The unit is run by Cpt. Tyler Scheid, or as the others refer to as Stone-face Scheid. He's an army veteran with a dry sense of humor, but every once in a while he'll loosen his tie a little a let the boys have their fun.

Mark's desk is facing Seàn's, with Matt and Nate's to the right of him. They all work on homicide cases together, unless Cpt. Scheid assigns them to a different task. There are eight million people currently living in Union, and just last year there were over two thousand homicides reported. Sometimes things can get very hectic in this unit.

Mark plops down in his chair, swallowing the last bit of his donut as Seàn continues to blather on about something the others didn't seem too interested about. The irishman's blue eyes shift towards Mark once he notices the raven-haired man across from him, his smile reflecting guilt that he tries to mask with a nervous giggle.

"Mornin'!" He chirps, playing with his fingers as Mark shoots him a scowl. His breath smells like maple glaze, and Seàn can tell that Mark is slightly agitated about something when he doesn't say anything in return. Matt is laughing under his breath, and Nate is too busy drowning in paperwork to care about whatever has Mark's panties in a twist.

"So, how was your morning, Seàn? Commit any crimes that we should know about?" Mark questions, smirking when Seàn's smile fell from his lips.

"Crime? The fuck are you goin' on about? I'm innocent, Mark."

Mark sighs as he stands, pulling open the drawer on his desk to grab his handcuffs. Seàn's eyes are following his hands, confusion spreading across his face.

"I thought you'd say that," Mark mutters, walking up behind Seàn and grabbing his wrists like he was collaring a perp on the street. Seàn squeaked, the cold metal of Mark's cuffs encircling his thin wrists as Mark read him his rights.

"Seàn Mcloughlin, you are hearby charged with the crime of theft and coercion. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,-"

"I was set up! Nate took the donut! It's all a fuckin' conspiracy!-" Seàn bellowed, feigning resistance as Mark cuffed him. Nate huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Don't drag me into your little crime ring, Seàn. Just admit it and maybe Mark will cut you a deal."

"Will ya whisht! I'm trying to sell your ass out!" Seàn chuckled, and the sound of his laugh filled Mark with joy. Even if they were just messing around a little, Seàn never failed to put a smile on Mark's face.

"Better lawyer up, Mcloughlin. You're looking at thirty years to life for this." Mark quipped, and that's when Seàn finally broke down into a fit of laughter.

"Alright, fine! I did it. I admit It! But I regret nothing, ya hear me! Nothing!"

Mark sighs, releasing Seàn from the cuffs once he hears Tyler approaching them.

"Look alive, Stone-face looks pissed." Matt murmurs, trying to look busy as Mark moves back to his desk. Tyler's blue eyes shift between the four of them, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he speaks.

"I'd hate to break up this little circle jerk, but we have a Jane Doe down in Central Gardens. Mark, you're on with Mcloughlin. Get your asses down there, now."

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Seàn shares a concerned look with his partner, rising from his seat to grab his gun and badge.

"Who called it In, Captain? Central Gardens is a business district, can't exactly kill someone without being seen." He commented, shrugging on his coat.

"Call came in about twenty minutes ago, said the body was discovered by the owner of the business, Mr. PJ Liguori. He owns a toy store called Tiny Planet Explorers, and as far we know he has no priors," Tyler answered, "You can grab the details of the police report from Robin on your way out. Get moving."

The two swiftly moved towards the door without another word, knowing that any additional information would be gathered at the crime scene. Seàn stopped at Robin's desk once the elevator doors opened, the two sharing a playful glare from this morning's events.

"You seriously couldn't tell a simple lie about a donut, Robin? I trusted you to have my back, and now there's a knife sticking out of it. Unbelievable." Seàn muttered, feighing disappointment with a drawn out sigh. Robin chuckled, his fingers clacking against his keyboard to access the file they would need even before Seàn had asked for it.

"That was your first mistake. I take donuts very seriously, plus I like Mark more than you. Those puppy dog eyes get me every time." He chuckled, handing Seàn the freshly printed out report.

"You're an asshole and I hate you." Seàn grumbled, snatching the paper out of the redhead's hand.

"Yes I am, and no you don't. We still on for drinks later?"

"As far as I know. Unless the crime scene is a total bust. I'm hoping to collar this fucker before dinner." Seàn concurred, thanking Robin before meeting Mark outside the building. The Eurasian was already in the car, adjusting the rearview mirror as Seàn opened the passenger door and climbed in.

"So, what have we got? Does the report sound like it's full of shit or is Liguori just as clueless as we are?" Mark asked, pulling out on the main road to follow the GPS coordinates. Seàn shrugged, glancing over the initial statement the owner gave to dispatch.

"Apparently Liguori found her in the middle of the store, But claims he doesn't know how she got there. We'll know more once we talk to him."

Mark nods, pursing his lips as the car pulls onto Central Gardens. Already they can see the flashing lights of the squad cars, uniformed crime scene techs taping off the store front. The vultures haven't caught wind of this yet, but there would be gawkers and reporters chomping at the bit before the body was even removed. Mark sighed, parking the car on the street and shutting off the engine.

"Mark, are you gonna be alright with this? We don't exactly know what we're walking into here. I just want to make sure that this isn't going to be an issue." Seàn softly said, his hand lightly touching Mark's thigh. He knew that Seàn's concern was coming from a good place, it just sounded a bit condescending to Mark's ears. The raven-haired man rolled his eyes, opening the car door and stepping out into the cold morning air.

"I'll be fine, Seàn. I've actually been sleeping a lot better than I used to." He lied, and to his relief Seàn bought it without too much of a protest.

"Okay. I trust your word, Mark. But you know that I'm just a phone call away if the nightmares get to be too much. I'm not opposed to staying over like I used to."

"I know. But I'm fine." Mark mutters, cutting off the conversation as he walked up to the front entrance of the toy store to talk to the responding officer.

"What do you have for us, Nelson?" Mark inquired, smiling warmly as his gaze met with the deep brown eyes of his friend. Amy and Mark knew each other from their time in the academy, but as their careers veered down different paths they sort of lost touch. They still flirt and tease each other whenever they actually do run into each other, but that's all it would ever be. Mark's romantic interest lies with someone else.

"Well, come see for yourself. But you should know that this guy is one sick bastard." She noted, lifting up the yellow police tape and gesturing for them to follow. Mark ducked his head under the tape, noticing already the distinct lack of broken glass by the front entrance of the store. Whoever did this had access to the keys, or at least a lockpick.

Another thing that was out of the ordinary was the fact that the store was still clean and undamaged, meaning that she most likely wasn't killed here. Seàn could see the gears turning in Mark's mind as Amy led them towards the body, and that's when he noticed the familiarity of it all.

Mark felt his heart stop as his eyes met the suspended form of a young woman, hanging from the ceiling by red wire and thick metal hooks. Blood was thickly pooled under her feet, one of her high heeled shoes lying in it while the other was still attached to her right foot.

Mark flinched, feeling Seàn's hand touch his shoulder in a comforting squeeze. This was far too similar to Anti's signature, and Mark could already feel his chest tightening at the thought of that animal somehow escaping prison just to kill again. Everything from the missing left ring finger to the blunt force trauma to the girl's head was eerily similar, and for a moment Mark thought that this was just one of his waking nightmares playing out his fears again.

Amy's voice was echoing in his ears, running down the basic information that they were able to gather thus far.

"We have a caucasian female, about twenty-six or seven. Evidence of blunt force trauma but no signs of a struggle or a break in. The owner claims that he doesn't know her, says the doors were still locked when he arrived this morning to open the store." She adds, moving to the left of the body. "The unsub removed her left ring finger, probably took it as a trophy after he strung her up-."

"He used to use SUX to subdue his victims," Mark interjects, his voice soft but filled with a fear he knew all too well. "They could feel, but couldn't fight back..this is him, Seàn. But how?"


	6. Chapter 6

Mark let out a slow breath, his mind still reeling from the revelation that either Anti was somehow out killing once again, or that he had a fan that admired his work just a little too much. It wasn't completely outside the realm of possibilities for a copy cat to be responsible for this. In fact, Mark was beginning to lean towards that conclusion himself after noticing a few things that seemed off to him. Firstly, the hooks embedded into the victim's skin were in different places. Anti always pierced the soles of their feet, palms of their hands, and their spine, to keep them in the desired position he was after. But this perp went strictly for the hands and knees. Another disturbing fact was that the victim was attached to two crossed wooden planks on the ceiling that appeared to be a modified hand controller for a marionette. This crime scene didnt fit Anti's signature in that regard either, since he normally just tied the ends of the wire to the metal pipes in the ceiling to keep them suspended.

Mark stepped a bit closer, trying not to touch the slightly swaying corpse. The crime scene techs would have his badge if he accidentally contaminated evidence that could help them nail the sick bastard that did this. This poor woman deserved justice, and Mark swore that he would give that to her and her family, or he'd die trying. Seàn watched his partner as he circled around to the left of the body, gesturing to her wrist with the end of his pen.

"She's wearing a watch. Seems to be broken." He commented, tilting his head to see where the hands on the clock were resting. The glass of her Rolex was smashed in, like the unsub wanted to change the time on her watch to something they preferred.

"What time is it set for?" Seàn asked, glancing up at the ticking clock on the wall. Mark narrowed his eyes, nearly catching it a few seconds before it was too late.

"It's set for now." He murmured, jumping back when one of the toy radios began to play.

"What the fuck?!" Seàn stepped back, blue eyes wide in shock. An eerie tune from an old television show filled the toy store as the corpse began to move.

**_Welcome to puppet play time.._ **

Her arms and legs moved stiffly, pulling with the hooks and wires that forced her to dance to the beat.

**_Come my friends,_ ** **_it's_ ** **_time to play.._ **

The sickening sounds of muscles and skin tearing along with the mechanical clicking of gears was enough cause Amy to panic, frantically drawing her weapon and aiming it at the woman's dancing body.

"Turn it off!" She cried, finger pressed against the trigger as Mark stood frozen to his spot on the floor. His brown eyes glistened with the memory of his dream, and suddenly the dancing corpse didn't belong to Jane Doe anymore. It belonged to Seàn. Those cloudy blue eyes were alive with agony, staring down at Mark with this pleading look that sent a shiver down his spine. The detective backed into the shelf behind him, hands shaking as he watched his hallucination dance for him. The sound of his name was ringing in his ears, and he could vaguely hear the Irish inflection that came with Seàn's unique voice.

"Mark?" The detective called, placing his hand on top of Amy's to lower her drawn weapon. His blue eyes were fixed on Mark with such concern, witnessing the sheer terror that reflected from his pained expression. By this point the crime scene was filled with CSIs, one of which was able to locate the device that was powering this little freak show, and shut it down. The music quickly slowed to a distorted stop, the corpse swaying now that the wires ceased their pulling. But Mark was still stuck in his vivid hallucination, staring wide-eyed at the person his mind kept telling him was Seàn.

"Mark!" Seàn yelled, turning to shake his partner's shoulder once Amy had holstered her gun. Seàn's voice had effectively startled Mark out of his strange trance, his terror filled eyes shifting around the room until they finally met the calming blue of his partner's.

"You okay?" Seàn asked, brows knit together in concern as he glossed over Mark's trembling form. The detective quickly wiped his eyes, nodding as he pulled himself away from the Irishman. Seàn gave him a look but let him go, watching as Mark weaved through the sea of people to get to the exit. He just needed some air, and maybe a cigarette to calm his nerves. Seàn sighed, instructing the CSIs to process the scene as he stepped outside to find his partner.

"Mark, what the hell happened back there? It was like you were on another planet." Seàn murmured, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. Mark shrugged, trying to blow it off as nothing as he shakily lit the end of his cigarette.

"I'm fine, just a little startled," Mark lied, exhaling a cloud of poison from his tar filled lungs. "That's fucked up, even for someone like Andrew."

"You still think it's him?"

"I don't see how it would be possible, but he's on my list of possible suspects. The other being the store's owner, unless his alibi checks out." Mark stated, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Right. We'll bring him in for questioning. Hopefully he'll cooperate without dragging his lawyer into this as well."

Seàn didn't seem to be too convinced, but he allowed the topic to shift in the direction that Mark was aiming for. They were all a little shaken up after witnessing something like that, but it appeared to be something deeper for Mark. Maybe he'd eventually open up to Seàn and tell him what has been bothering him so much lately, or maybe he wouldn't. As partners they've come to rely on each other for things outside of the job, and Seàn trusts that if it was something serious that Mark would feel comfortable enough to tell him. But only time will tell. 


	7. Chapter 7

The interrogation room at UCPD was pretty much as barren as a room could get, besides the little metal table and chairs that sat in the middle. It was cold and darker than it needed to be, despite the fact that it was barely even noon. But it was effective at siphoning confessions out of easily frightened perps that didn't care for the precinct's lack of lighting and dull gray walls made of stone. The two-way mirror was all that stood between Mark and a very rattled PJ Liguori, who was here of his own volition. Technically he wasn't under arrest, so PJ was freely agreeing to the line of questioning that was soon to take place.

The assistant district attorney, Ethan Nestor, was standing just outside of the room, listening through the built-in speaker system to make sure that Mark wouldn't end up violating any of PJ's rights. It was more of a safety precaution for the developing case than anything. If PJ wasn't read his rights and ended up saying something incriminating, it could be thrown out in court, depending on if his lawyer was present or not.

Mark glossed over the rap sheet for the witness, noticing a few questionable charges that stacked up in the past five years. Domestic violence, menacing, and a restraining order issued by his estranged ex-girlfriend didn't look very appealing for his claim of innocence. But if he was indeed guilty, Mark would pull the confession out of him in no time at all. Or so they hoped.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this, Mark? Seàn told me about what happened at the crime scene," Tyler questioned, eyeing the detective warily. "I know that this case is very similar to Andrew's, and I can see how much it still affects you. I can have Nate or Seàn come in at any time to take over if-"

"I appreciate the concern, Captain, but I'm fine," Mark interjects, his tone coming off a little more defensive than he'd like it to be. He's only questioning a witness. He could handle that just fine. "I don't need to be coddled. Andrew doesn't affect me anymore, regardless of what Seàn says behind my back."

There was a hint of bitterness there, but Mark could never be upset with Seàn for very long. He's only looking out for him, and Mark honestly needs that in his life. God only knows how many times he's saved Mark, even from himself. 

"He's just concerned, Mark. We all are," Ethan said. "You don't look like you've been sleeping, and we all see the way you flinch at the crime scene photos. Maybe you should talk with Signe and-"

"The office shrink?!" Mark bellows. "I can't fucking believe this!"

"It's only a suggestion, Mark. But I won't hesitate to mandate a psychiatric evaluation for you if things aren't getting better." Tyler warns, and Mark knows that he's not bluffing. Tyler has put him on restricted duty before, practically chaining him to his desk after Andrew nearly killed Seàn. A mental break was a serious understatement, and during that time Mark was actively fighting off the urge to swallow a bullet on a nightly basis because of it.

He's better at hiding it now, but sometimes his wounds are still visible, no matter how hard he tries to cover them up. Today just happened to be that day.

"Really, I'm fine. Seàn is down with Wade going over the autopsy report, and I said that I would handle the witness. You're all watching me like a hawk anyway, so why don't you just let me do my job and we'll talk about my hurt feelings later." Mark grumbled, pushing past Ethan on his way into the interrogation room. 

PJ was nervously bouncing his leg underneath the table, playing with his fingers to try and busy his racing mind. His blue eyes shifted towards the door, frowning when Mark entered and sat down across from him. The manilla folder in the detective's hand was placed on the table, and PJ's eyes were fixed on it, staring at it like it was a poisonous snake.

"Mr. Liguori, I'm going to ask you a few questions regarding the hours prior to your arrival at the crime scene this morning. Are you ready to proceed?" Mark asked rather robotically, taking out his notepad and a pen.

"Yes, of course, detective."

"Good. Let's start with where you were at approximately 9:15 last night."

"I-I was home, watching the telly," PJ said, leg continuing to bounce anxiously as Mark scribbled down his answer on the notepad.

"Can anyone verify that?"

"No, I'm afraid not. You see, I live alone and my neighbor is deaf, so she wouldn't have heard anything." He said, voice cracking.

Mark quirked an eyebrow, glancing up for a moment before continuing.

"So nobody saw you between the hours of 9:15 last night to 7:45 this morning?" Mark's tone was beginning to harden, irritation evident in his tense body language. PJ fumbled to find an excuse for that, stating that he doesn't have many friends and that working at the toy store is the only time he ever is social with the public. To everyone else, he just looked like an anti-social homebody, but Mark knew something that they didn't. The detective sighed, opening up the folder on the desk and removing the page that listed all of his misdeeds.

"One count domestic violence, two counts of aggravated menacing, and oh, would you look at that, a restraining order against you from a Miss. Sophie Newton. How precious." Mark sneered, catching the witness off guard. "It seems that you have a real problem with women, PJ. You like to smack them around and threaten them if they try to leave you. Isn't that right?"

"I-I'm sorry, but what does Sophie have to do with the dead girl hanging in my toy store?"

"Your history of violence against women has everything to do with that poor girl you slaughtered and strung up like a God damn puppet!" Mark snapped, and PJ recoiled at how quickly Mark had gone from calm to visibly irate.

"Am I under arrest?-" PJ was starting to rise from his seat, backing away from the table as Mark laid out the crime scene photos across the table for him to see. "I didn't kill that girl! I don't even know who she is!"

"Bullshit! You know more than you're telling me. How did someone gain access to your fucking toy store without braking in?! You know the son of a bitch that did this, or you're just covering your own ass with a lie!"

PJ was backed into a corner, looking like he might piss himself if Mark pushed him any further. Ethan was growing more concerned by the second, watching as Mark closed in on him with a picture of the victim's face in his hand.

"You're involved with him somehow and  I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Look at her face and tell me you've never seen her before. Tell me you didn't kill her!"

"I-I swear I don't know who she is. Someone stole my keys a month ago and I had to get them replaced. That's how they got in. I don't know anything else about this. I-I want my lawyer."

As soon as Ethan heard that dreaded statement, the interview was officially over for Mark. Anything else that PJ said was inadmissible in court and the case was officially at risk from this point on. Tyler was quick to intervene, telling Mark to wait for him in his office while Ethan stepped in to deal with the legal bullshit. Mark's blood was boiling, images of ripped skin and red wire flashing through his mind. He knew that he would only end up worse for it in the end, but he just couldn't stop himself.  

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My good friend Jamie(whatsastory on wattpad) will be helping with this story from here on out. Unfortunately, they don't have an ao3 account so I can't tag them :(

"You wanna tell me what the fuck that was all about back there, Fischbach?" Captain Scheid barked, glaring at Mark from his place behind his desk. He was about to receive a royal ass-chewing for his brash tactics back in the interrogation room, and it wasn't going to be pretty. The witness was reasonably shaken up, and now that he invoked his right to a lawyer, no one else would be able to talk to him unless said lawyer was present. Ethan was already discussing the matter with Mr.Liguori's attorney, attempting to put out any potential fires while he still had the chance. The last thing this department needed was another harassment lawsuit that claimed excessive force was used to obtain a "confession".

"He knows something about the murder, Captain. You saw his eyes. He was seconds away from confessing,-"

"He was seconds away from pissing himself after you backed him into a corner, Mark. Did you suddenly forget proper interrogation procedure, or are you personally compromised from a case you closed over five years ago?" Tyler snapped, arms folded across his broad chest. Mark sighed, rolling his eyes. Tyler was easily able to see through his facade, and he just knew the self-righteous talk about seeking out help was about to rear its ugly head once again. He didn't have time for this shit. There was a killer on the streets of Union, butchering women in the same disturbing way that Andrew had, and he was stuck in his superior's office getting bitched at like a teen that broke curfew. Utterly ridiculous.

"I want you to see Dr. Hansen. Today."

Tyler's tone left no room for an argument, although Mark would have tried if his case and potentially his career wasn't hanging on his response to that command. He'd go eventually, but not today. Seàn was still in the coroner's office going over the forensic evidence, and that's where he needed to be. Not locked away in a stuffy office while some shrink played with his broken mind.

"We finished here, Captain?"

Tyler paused, gritting his teeth. Of course Mark would snap at his instruction, but it was for his own good. He can be bitter all he wants, but this has been put off long enough.

"You get your ass down to Signe's office. Now," he said sternly, pointing towards the door. "No pit stops either, Fischbach. Do you understand me?"

Mark gave a half-assed nod, more concerned with getting out of this office and down to the morgue before Seàn was finished.

He walked quickly, ducking around corners and avoiding the gazes of passers-by. Signe's office was in plain view, but where he should have made a right, he took a sharp left towards the elevator. He pushed the button, tapping his foot as he waited for the doors to open.

 _'It's taking too damn long,'_ he decided, and again changed his course, this time towards the stairwell. He took them two at a time, careful to keep his balance.

He donned a pair of nitrile gloves, snapping them at the wrist before entering the bitterly cold room of the morgue. Seàn was hunched over the pieces of the girl, brow furrowed in concentration as the medical examiner gave a light smile and brushed passed Mark.

"Is it him, Seàn? It is, isn't it?" Mark's words came out in a harsh whisper, nearly cracking from the stress.

"I don't know," Seàn's voice was quiet, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"What do you mean you don't know? Look at her! You're telling me that you don't think this woman... this puppet... was Andrew? What other sick fuck do you know that would do something like this?"

"You need to calm down, Mark. I'm not saying there aren't similarities. Obviously, there are. But look, the hook placements, they're not Andrew's M.O... These are... are sloppy in comparison." He pointed towards the gaps in her skin where hooks once took up residence. Sure, they looked a little different, but Andrew had been out of practice for a while. He would need to get back in the groove, wouldn't he?

"I can see the wheels in your head cranking, Mark. But he's in jail. This couldn't have been him."

"Are you absolutely sure of that, Seàn?" Mark quirked an eyebrow, giving his partner a look that made him heave a weary sigh. Mark was obviously stuck on Andrew as a suspect, even though the evidence just didn't add up to point to that conclusion. He felt for Mark, but his paranoia was going to derail this case even before it hit the tracks.

"I called the penitentiary about an hour ago. Andrew was present at morning roll call, Mark. He had nothing to do with Jane Doe's murder, but someone else is responsible and it's our job to find them and bring them to justice, alright?" He spoke gently, and Mark couldn't deny that Andrew's involvement was almost impossible if he was still caged like the animal he is.

"You're right, Seàn. I just can't help but feel unnerved when I look at her. All I see is him, and I'm reminded of the night he tried to take you away from me." Mark confessed, glancing down at her face. She almost looked peaceful, despite the multiple wounds that littered her body. This poor woman endured hell at the hands of a psychopath and Mark had to pull himself together in order to catch him. Seàn was right, as always. 

"I wouldn't expect you to feel any differently, Mark. That was a very dark time in both of our lives," he murmured. "But Andrew can't hurt us anymore. He's on death row for the shit he pulled, and you better believe that we'll have front row seats to watch that bastard fry when the time comes. He can't take me away from you. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Seàn clapped his ungloved hand on Mark's shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He always knew just what to say to reign Mark in when he was beginning to lose his way. If only he could show Sean just how much he needed him without ruining the partnership they had. 


	9. Chapter 9

Mark swirled a glass of expensive deep amber colored whiskey, breathing in the scent before he sipped it slowly. The warm liquid brought with it undertones of vanilla, a flavor that he held on to keep a wince from his features. He inhaled the smoke from the burning cigarette in his hand, listening as the papers gently shuffled in Seàn's hands.

"Woodford? That's a little expensive for you, isn't it?" His eyes stayed glued to the page as he asked, brow furrowing up and down as he read.

"I've had a rough day. I can indulge every now and then. Anything interesting in the report?" Mark's gaze is equally determined, but it's focused on Seàn's reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He watched carefully as his lips moved along with the words as he read, trying his hardest not to picture him with a knife sticking out of his chest or his limbs swinging wildly from the metal pipes overhead.

"The same finger was removed. Interesting. Was that released to the media? I can't remember." He was speaking to himself, but Mark couldn't help but try to recall if the detail was, in fact, released. He'd have to remember to look into that later.

"It's just the placement of the hooks, ya know? Andrew was so precise each time. He wouldn't have fucked this up. It wasn't him, Mark. It wasn't him..."

"Maybe he's working with someone?" Mark suggested, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Andrew had the media's attention for at least a few months. It could be an admirer."

Seàn sighed, setting the report down on the table. It's already been an incredibly long day and the last thing he wanted to do was rehash the same damn information he told Mark back at the precinct. It's like he can't turn it off, bringing the case with him everywhere he goes. But at least Mark agreed to go out with him for the evening, even if this wasn't what he would consider an ideal night to be.

"Andrew was a classic sexual sadist with sociopathic tendencies, Mark. He did what he did to feel release. It doesn't make sense for him to have an accomplice. But a fan? Maybe Andrew was receiving letters or a visitor since he's been behind bars."

"I went to see him recently, don't you think if he would have gotten fan mail that even hinted at an accomplice he would have told me?" Mark flicked his ash, more out irritation than actual need.

"You what?" Seàn shook his head incredulously. What the actual fuck was wrong with him? His obsession was creeping into his bloodstream, infiltrating his nerves and controlling his every move.

"I went to see him. I needed to," he told him simply as he took another sip, relishing the burn down his throat.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," Seàn told him as he stacked his papers together, returning the paper clip and sliding them into his leather portfolio.

"Seàn, stop," he reached his hand out and tugged at the other man's arm, stopping him from leaving. "Please just have a drink with me. There's Jameson..."

Seàn rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He wished that the two of them hadn't been through so much together. It would be easier to turn him down otherwise. He sat back on the uncomfortable bar stool with a huff, gesturing for the bartender to come back over.

"You're buying me something more expensive than fuckin' Jameson."

Mark chuckled, smirking as Seàn ordered some obscure liquor that sounded like it might be Japanese. Maybe he could just turn it off for tonight, spend some time that's long-overdue with his friend? Lord knows it's been quite a while since they actually went out to have a bit of fun, and it's reflecting on their strained relationship. He doesn't want to lose his partner to Andrew, but it's just so fucking hard to leave work at work when all he sees is Andrew's lingering shadow in the corner of his eye. Perhaps Tyler was right this time? He has been rather..unhinged lately.

Mark shrugs off the notion, chalking it up to stress and poor sleep. Things will improve once this case is closed, and then he can take that vacation he's been putting off for the past seven years. Maybe then he'd be bold enough to ask Seàn out the way he's always wanted to. His brown eyes linger on Seàn's face for a moment too long, catching his partner's attention as he waited for his drink to be served.

"Somethin' on your mind, Mark?" He asked playfully, damn near giddy at the prospect of having a drink after such a tiring day.

"Nothing I care to talk about right now," he laughed to himself like it was an inside joke that only he was in on.

Seàn's known Mark long enough to know when something was on his mind. He knew that whatever he was thinking about was beyond Andrew and all of his fucked up games. The look that belonged to that thought was one of absolute misery, complete with worry lines at his eyes and lips drawn downward. But this... this was something different.

"Make you a deal, then. When I drink you under this fucking table, and I absolutely will, you fucking tell me, got it?" He held out his hand for the other to shake, but it was pushed away instead.

"You forgot about what I'll be winning when I drink you under the table..."

"Oh, um, well what d'you want?"

Mark laughs to himself again, contemplating if he could pull it off as a joke if he told Seàn just what he wanted. The alcohol wasn't helping his judgement, whittling his inhibitions away to a fine ground powder. Fuck it, what did he have to lose?

Well, a lot it seemed. One wrong move could potentially destroy a relationship he's been building with Seàn for years. That constant fear was always looming in the back of his mind, preventing him from slipping up in front of Seàn and saying something that might hint to something deeper than just a few sexually charged jokes between friends. But damn if that liquor wasn't muffling that little voice of caution almost completely at this point.

"If I win, I get to have you all to myself for the night. Just you and me and a bottle of Scotch," Mark said, suddenly a hell of a lot more confident than he was five minutes ago. "What do you say, Seàn? It could be just like old times, yeah?"

Seàn hesitated for a moment, weighing his options like it was a life or death situation. The smile on his face grew a bit wider, and with an outstretched hand, he gripped onto Mark's, shaking it in agreement.

"We have ourselves a fuckin' deal."

 


	10. Chapter 10

"'Nother round, m'good sir," Mark's hand raised in the air, fingers snapping to grab the attention of the now very annoyed bartender.

"Not sure if you need another one, buddy," Seàn told him quietly, resting his hand on the other's shoulder to fully grab his attention.

"Sounds jus' like somethin' someone would say to keep someone else from winnin'a bet, doesn' it?" The slur of his voice was becoming worse and worse, nearly to the point of being unintelligible. His eyes were half closed, but he was fighting hard to make the night last. It had been so long since he'd gotten to spend a good amount of time with Seàn, and he missed the times that they could just be themselves. Silly and carefree, without the thought of Seàn drowning in a puddle of his own blood.

"How about this. We take this back to your place, and I'll drink you under a table that you bought. It'll be a double victory for me."

It took a bit of coercion and flirtation to actually draw Mark out of the bar, and Seàn was nearly exhausted from the extra effort he was putting in just to make sure that his partner made it home safely. He was buzzed, but compared to Mark he was practically sober. The Eurasian could barely walk, forcing Seàn to bear his weight as they walked out to the curb to hail a cab. Mark was a hell of a lot worse than he first thought, and seeing him this out of it after what happened at the precinct earlier only proved how broken he really was. Mark depended on alcohol to get through the day, and Seàn could now see the extent of his illness with his own two eyes. His partner always tried his best to hide this side of himself from Seàn, to filter what he saw in order to maintain the illusion that he was indeed getting better. But it was all a lie. Mark wouldn't make it much longer at the rate he was going, and the thought of standing over his casket when he could have done something to help felt worse than the knife Andrew plunged into his lung that night.

If Seàn thought the cab ride to Mark's house was hard, he was in for a shit storm when he tried to get him up the steps to his apartment. With an arm wrapped around his neck and the other making sloppy grabs for the stair rail, Mark was like a giant, helpless baby.

"Hey Seàn, did I ever tell you that you...'re a good partner?" He slurred, ghosting the other man with a wave of alcohol tainted breath.

"No, but I'm not a good partner. I'm the best fucking partner anyone could ever ask for," he told him back, wrestling the keys from Mark's back pocket. He was finally able to get it open and left Mark on the couch to get him some water.

"The best _fucking_ partner, Seàn? Y'tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

"Shut up, you little giggly bitch. Drink your water. You need to get some sleep. I'll help you get to bed." He sat next to him on the couch and silently willed him to drink, praying to whoever was listening that neither of them would wake up with a hangover from Hell.

"Are you gonna stay in m'bed with me? Y'said I'd get you all night if I won. And I did..."

"Yeah, yeah," Seàn said, waving his hand dismissively as he untied Mark's shoes and slipped them off of his feet. "Whatever gets you into bed, buddy. You're barely hanging on as it is."

Mark gave him a lopsided grin, humming contentedly as he snaked his arm around Seàn's shoulder to pull him in for an awkward hug. This entire situation was uncomfortable, but Seàn was at least happy that he'd managed to get Mark home safely. Regardless of how broken the man was, he still cared about him. They'd been working together closely for years, and he's lost track of how many times they'd stayed up with each other all night for a stakeout, or how the other's apartment quickly became a second home on the nights they'd fallen asleep working a case. They've been through so much shit together, and now Mark needed Seàn more than he'd ever care to admit. How could he leave him when the man was one drink away from drowning, feeling empty and lost? In truth, he couldn't. This case would probably be a career-ender for Mark, so Seàn tried to look at the silver-lining when it came to moments like this. Their time together was drawing to a close, so he might as well try to enjoy it while he still had the chance.

Seàn leaned into Mark's side, letting out a small sigh of exhaustion. It was late, and 6 am comes a hell of a lot sooner than he ever would have liked. He could just pass out here for the night. Mark wouldn't mind since he seemed to think that Seàn was sleeping here anyway.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get you to bed."

With a grunt, Mark was back on his feet, supporting his weight on Seàn as they stumbled towards the bed. The sheets were messy and smelled like smoke, and Seàn frowned when he noticed the bottle of whiskey that sat on his nightstand. He was so sick, and he'd drink himself to death before he ever admitted that to anyone, especially Seàn.

The Irishman dropped Mark down onto the mattress with a strained groan, fingers already moving up towards his belt to try and get him a little more comfortable. He didn't think anything of it since they'd done things like this for each other in the past when one of them was shit-faced drunk and couldn't do it for themselves.

Mark was snickering, brown eyes lazily fixed on Seàn as he pulled his pants off and tossed them onto the back of the chair in his room. 

"The fuck is so funny, Fischbach?" 

"If you wanna get into m'pants, all y'had'a do was ask."

"Shut up, you goof," Seàn said, rolling his eyes as he moved his hands up to work on the buttons of Mark's shirt. "Can you at least sit up so that I can take your shirt off? You'll be more comfortable without the tie, trust me."

"You can do whatever you want to me, baby," Mark giggled, sitting up and allowing Seàn to grip onto his tie. He would have said something to deflect the pervy comment Mark just threw at him, but he couldn't help but notice how close they were, and how Mark was staring at his lips like he wanted to kiss him.


	11. Chapter 11

The drunkenness he'd incurred at the bar was slowly dissipating, melting into an entirely new sort of dizzying emotion. The breath across his face, the heat that radiated from Mark's sweat-slicked skin, and the way his tongue glided gracefully across his lips was starting to have an effect on him unlike anything he'd ever experienced. But Mark wasn't in the proper state to consent to anything, let alone agree to fuck his partner of seven years. 

"Mark, what're you..." he couldn't finish his sentence before he was cut off by the other man's lips on his. The overwhelming taste of whiskey and lust invaded his mouth, sending him down a rabbit hole that Seàn wasn't sure he'd ever be able to crawl back out of. Mark was wasted and hurting, and anyone with eyes could see that this was a bad idea. You don't date your partner. You just don't. What if something happened and they ended up at each other's throats? They couldn't work efficiently as a team if their feelings kept getting in the way. This can't happen. Seàn pulled back, blinking in stunned silence for a moment. Mark was desperately tugging on his dress shirt, popping a few of the buttons as he pulled Seàn into his lap.

"Just let me have this, please?" He begged, and the way his voice cracked felt like a shot to the heart. It's not like he hadn't thought about it. Mark's a gorgeous man. He's always been able to capture his attention, and Seàn knows that he feels something stronger than friendship for him. Would it be wrong to just give in a little? Mark needed him after all.

Seàn only thought about it for another second, deciding that he was already too lost in those brown eyes to pull back. He reconnected their lips and poured out all of the pent-up emotions he had bottled up over the years. But Mark was pouring out something else entirely.

"I almost lost you..." his quiet, shaky voice started. "I could have lost you, Seàn. You were... you looked like you were dead. I'd never been so scared. I was so scared, Seàn, so fucking scared," he choked out, unable to fight back the tears that had been aching to fall for quite some time.

"I'm here now, Mark. I'm right here. Come back to the present and be with me."

Mark was holding onto him so tightly, weeping between sloppy kisses to Seàn's hands and face. It was like he couldn't stop, and the more he touched Seàn, the quieter those images of death and blood became. He needed to feel Seàn's skin, to make sure that he was safe and whole and away from harm. Seàn didn't know what to think at first, but now that he could see it for himself, he could tell that Mark has been dealing with things far worse than just alcohol and tobacco. There was something about him that drove Mark to tears, but at this point, he was afraid to even ask. It must be about the night Andrew attempted to kill him, based on the way Mark was speaking to him. After all these years, he's still haunted by that image. And Seàn's heart broke for him all over again. 

They both needed a moment to just breathe, to take in the sensation of the other's touch as they gave into that desire to be with each other. And even if things didn't last past tomorrow, they still had tonight. Just to breathe and release, to taste and touch that forbidden fruit that's tempted them for so long.

Seàn leaned himself back slowly, pulling Mark along with him. The two refused to break eye contact, like if they did the whole night would dissolve in a sickening sizzle of smoke.

Mark propped himself up with a hand, the other hand running along Seàn's jaw, down his neck and across his torso. The sensation sent tingles up Seàn's spine, feeling like he was the only one in Mark's world, like he was being worshipped.

"You're so perfect," the words came out in a breathless whisper, like they'd been dying to be said for all of eternity. "Please don't ever leave. Please. I need you, Seàn."

"I'm not going anywhere, Mark." The intensity was getting to be too much, and he needed release. Seàn's head was resting against the mattress, those gorgeous blue eyes gazing up at Mark. They held so much emotion, from fear to confusion, lust to love. And Mark was quickly drowning in it, caught up in the riptide as Seàn pulled him deeper into his arms. They'd never done anything like this before, but instinct was quick to take over as Mark's hands moved to undress his partner. His shirt was ripped open, pants hastily removed, and his boxers pulled down just below his knees. Mark was in a frenzy, flipping Seàn onto his belly with little to no effort as he pulled his cock free from the confines of his underwear. His head was spinning, clouded by lust, fear, and alcohol as he ripped open the drawer on his nightstand to retrieve the bottle of lubricant. Seàn was dizzy from how quickly things were spiraling out of control, his heated flesh glistening with sweat. Was he even ready for this? It seemed like Mark was unable to control himself once Seàn gave him the green light, and the Irishman soon found himself on all fours with Mark's slick fingers in his ass. 

The noises that came from Seàn's quivering lips would have been embarrassing under any other circumstances, but this was Mark. He didn't have to hide from him. He didn't have to change himself, he was good enough for him.

"Tell me you want this, Seàn. I need to know before I take this any further. I don't want you to to do anything you don't want to," Mark's voice was low and pleading, full of worry that he was doing something that he shouldn't.

"I want it. I'm ready." Seàn looked over his shoulder, and even if he wasn't sure before, the way Mark was biting his lip and looking at him with so much need would have changed his mind.

He faced away from him once again, burying his face into the blanket beneath him and taking deep and steady breaths. He was prepared for pain, but the feeling of being so full was unlike anything he'd experienced before. His eyes rolled back instantly, and his mouth fell open in a broken moan. It's been years since either of them have been with anyone, and Mark knew that it wouldn't take much to send him over the edge. His hips were flush against Seàn's ass, hands gripping onto those curvy hips as he gave him a moment to adjust to the new sensation. 

His hips moved at Seàn's command, and soon the bedroom was filled with sweet sounds he didn't know the Irishman was capable of making. He sounded so gorgeous, spurring Mark on to thrust into him faster until he was pounding Seàn into the mattress like an animal. The Irishman was panting wildly, drawn-out moans falling from his lips as he gripped at the sheets and arched his back. He never knew that something like this could feel so fucking good, and Mark was easily able to set his nerves on fire with just the simplest touch. The head of Mark's cock struck a particularly sensitive area inside of Seàn, and the noise he made only brought Mark closer to climax as he focused on hitting Seàn's prostate with each roll of his hips.

The closer he came to release, the quieter his mind became, until all he could focus on was the warmth that hugged his manhood. 

"Don't stop. M'so close." Seàn rushed out, his fist rapidly stroking his cock to send him over the edge. They climaxed a few moments apart, with Seàn reaching ecstasy first, quickly bringing Mark down with him. His mind was still trying to catch up to what had just happened, but his body was still on autopilot. Mark was kissing his shoulder blades as he pulled out, wrapping his arms around Seàn's waist as he collapsed against the bed in a heap. It suddenly came crashing down on Seàn, who was blankly staring at the bedroom wall. He just took advantage of Mark, and he didn't know how they would ever recover from something like this.

 


End file.
